Smile
by agent1131
Summary: A Oneshot featuring Zach and Cammie, post-mission, as they return to their apartment and discover a lack of first aid supplies.


I shove the key in the lock, cringing at the shock waves it sends up my arm and into my shoulder.

Zach leans over and places his hand over mine, "Here let me."  
I step aside with a sigh, hating that I require assistance for unlocking my door, well technically our door. He eases it open without even a creak from the mid-century hinges, a reminder of his very specific skill set.

I limp inside, babying my afflicted right arm, as I head to the medicine cabinet over the microwave and right next to the M&M cabinet (my first addition to my independent living space.) I open the cabinet to find a bottle of ibuprofen with two tablets, an empty box of Band-Aids, and a hydrogen peroxide bottle with about a teaspoon of solution in it.

I turn and shoot a glare at Zach who has just finished dead bolting the door and untying his combat boots, "I guess someone forgot to go to the drugstore."

"Oh shit." He says as he strides over to join me and stare at our bare supply together, shaking the ibuprofen bottle halfheartedly.

"Yes, oh shit, is right." I reply tersely.

"I may have something in my car." He assuages, "Give me a minute."

I nod and sigh as he grabs his keys and heads out to the parking lot.

I lift my arm to test outs its range of motion and discover it's a full centimeter, _definitely a dislocated shoulder, excellent._

I limp over to the kitchen table and flop down in a chair, attempting to catalogue my injuries. Before I get beyond a ringing ear and bloody lip, Zach glides back in without a sound.

"Look what I found Gallagher Girl!" He greets as he shakes a first aid kit in my face with a goofy smile, pulling a chair up to sit across from mine.

"Superb work Agent Goode, far better than earlier today when you set off a bomb and dislocated your girlfriend slash partner's shoulder." I admonish sarcastically.

His face falls, "Dislocated? You sure?"

"Pretty all sure." I reply as I pop the ibuprofen he placed in my hand into my mouth.

"Shit." He says with a shake of his head.

"That's your favorite word tonight isn't it?" I tease.

"I feel that it suits this particular _crap_ hole of an evening quite well." He defends as he rips open a package of gauze.

I chuckle at his gentle cussword then find myself totally distracted by his ropey forearms as they free squares of gauze from their packaging. Of course, I would start fantasizing about those same forearms wrapping themselves around me when I should be focusing on my laundry list of injuries.

"Cammie? Cammie?" His eyes searching mine.  
"Yeah." I shake my head, pulling myself out of my reverie.  
"I thought I lost you there for a moment." He says with a smirk as he dabs some hydrogen peroxide on my face.

"No, just lost in – shit!" I cry out and cringe, whimpering slightly, despite my best effort, as I discover an alarming number of open wounds on my face as he brings the gauze to each cut and graze.

"Sorry" he apologizes as he continues to torture me with this household staple that should have been outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

I grab his wrist before he can dab another area, "Hold it." I take a deep breath and lock my eyes onto his, "how necessary is this?"

"Very compulsory if you want to avoid an infection and losing that beautiful face of yours." He answers solemnly with only a small smirk at the end.

"I think I'll risk it." I decide as I maintain a firm grip around his wrist, the kind that Bex herself would be proud of.

"I think that's not up to you." He chides as he attempts to pull his wrist out of my hand, I merely hold on tighter.

"Cammie." He warns with a low voice on the verge of a growl and for a brief moment I am reminded of another blue-eyed man sitting across from me in an MI6 debrief warning me not to trust my favorite teacher.

For a split second I want to wrap my fingers even tighter around this wrist with the blue eyes, but then I recall that the blue eyes warning me in this moment are softer. The beginnings of crow's feet gracing the edge of these eyes, etching their markings as a reminder of a smile that comes easy. So, instead I release my death grip and nod my head assenting to his ministrations.

He smiles in return and I watch as his eyes crinkle in their familiar way, easing the tension in my shoulders, distancing the pain that has settled deep into my bones. Those eyes, they are home and hope and healing. As he continues his gentle care with that simple smile and those piercing eyes, I feel my lips turn up at the end in that involuntary way when one feels so at peace and grateful that all they can do is smile.


End file.
